Mary Blayney

by Traitors Kiss; Lovers Kiss

  Racing from the gatehouse he tore up the drive, certain that the man he’d seen was the culprit. It hadn’t been more than ten minutes.

  He stopped and turned back without even going in the front door. The man would hardly be waiting around to see what his reaction would be. Even as he stepped away from the door, considering what to do next, Lord David came out of the castle, saw him and swore.

  “You lying, thieving bastard. I have the note.”

  “Note? I have no idea what you are talking about, my lord. Someone left these at the gatehouse not ten minutes ago.”

  Lord David came closer to see what he held and still ready to commit murder.

  “It was not me, for God’s sake. Not me. Think, man, why would I leave a note and then bring you the basket?”

  “Huh,” was all that Lord David said for a moment. He closed his eyes and nodded as Michael’s question defused his rage. “Come with me.”

  Michael followed him back to the castle. The porter eyed them with curiosity, but did not say a word.

  Lord David trotted up the stairs and down the hall toward the duke’s office. He went into a door nearby, another office, this one filled with papers, endless piles of them, some held down with pieces of odd statuary. Other larger stone figures, equally unusual, sat on the floor and the tables.

  Relics of his days in Mexico, Michael guessed. The bizarre, distorted figures were alarming on first glance. The opposite of warm and welcoming. Michael was sure it was deliberate.

  “The note.” Lord David handed it to him.

  It read:

  She may be safe now but her reputation is compromised. How many people know? An alliance will put an end to the questions.

  “Alliance.” Michael decided that was the key word in the note.

  “Political. Personal.” Lord David tossed out two possible alliances.

  “Personal. Marriage.” Michael said, imitating Lord David’s verbal skills. “There would be no reason to ruin her reputation if it is political.”

  Her brother nodded.

  “We can be easy about Lady Olivia’s safety. There will not be another attempt at abduction.”

  “It is only her reputation that they wanted to ruin.” Lord David nodded as he spoke. “And they are going to use her clothes to do it.”

  “Surely her reputation will survive the subterfuge. Lady Olivia is obviously well loved here. No one would believe ill of her.”

  “Oh really?” Lord David sounded as curious as a suspicious parent.

  “My finely honed skills of observation, my lord. They appear to have a use beyond discerning who is a spy.”

  Lord David ignored the explanation. “If word of this reaches London there will never be an advantageous marriage.”

  That did not matter to Olivia. Michael knew that. Surely Lord David did as well. But the duke might want it.

  “Lynford told me how you found her. Nearly naked.”

  Michael could hear the anger in his words. With a temper so short how had the man survived in the Navy without a flogging? Was it up to him to be the voice of reason? Michael wondered.

  He might not show the same anger but that did not mean he was immune to it. He was the one who had found Olivia near death. He was the one who had to let the two bastards ride off. He wanted them as much, more, than either of her brothers.

  27

  THEY MUST HAVE A CONSPIRATOR on the staff, my lord. Why else would he run back toward the castle?”

  Lord David nodded and did not speak for a moment. “Hackett,” he suggested. “I dismissed him when he went off duty this morning. Not hard to imagine him with a grudge, even though we gave him a year’s wage.”

  Michael raised his eyebrows. That was unusually generous.

  “My father’s influence. He once had to dismiss a much-loved servant, a governess. Giving her some financial security was a matter of conscience. He drilled that into all of us.”

  The old duke. He certainly exerted a strong influence even now.

  “It could also be a recent hire,” Lord David continued, “someone whose loyalty has not been proven and whose greed won out over his conscience.”

  “A new member of the household like me.” Michael wondered what he had to do to prove himself. “I swear to you again, Lord David, that I came upon this whole incident by the accident of Gabriel’s letter of introduction, which I am beginning to heartily regret. Please God, let that be the end of it.”

  Michael walked over to look at a glass canister filled with dried brown leaves of some kind.

  “Mexican tobacco,” was all Lord David said.

  “As for my conscience,” Michael continued with his back to Pennistan, “that has not bothered me since I saw the innocent lives the Spanish and French destroyed in the name of the emperor and the English repaid with the horror of Badajoz.”

  “Yes,” Pennistan said as if he understood man’s inhumanity to man just as Michael did.

  “Where do the baskets come from? The ones that they delivered the clothes in.”

  “Those baskets are used for bringing food in from the garden or the succession houses. There are dozens and easy enough to come by.”

  “We could ask the duke if he knows who is behind this.” It seemed the obvious solution to Michael. “He knows. He as much as said so last night but kept the details to himself.”

  “For obvious reasons.” Lord David stood up. “I will speak to him. Burn the clothes, wait until they are thoroughly destroyed, and be about your day. I will find you if I need your help again.” He left the room.

  Michael stared at the door, growing damn tired of the way the duke and his brother treated him like a thug hired to do their bidding. It could be that that was all he was good for now, and that his next position might not be nearly as straightforward as this one.

  He picked up Olivia’s dress and ran his hand over the finely woven cotton that was almost as soft as her skin. She was the living proof that this family had love at the heart of their most difficult decisions. He had seen that last night, heard it in the way they spoke with each other. His anger cooled and he realized that he was not so much a convenient pair of fists as a man who was not part of their inner circle. Not part of the family Pennistan.

  So Lord David was not going to tell him any more than he needed to know to do his job. God knew he understood the concept of holding information in a tight circle. It would be like the army, where they would fight a battle without knowing why. Or life in Le Havre, where no one told anyone more than the obvious, where secrecy was a fact of life.

  Amazing how much life at Pennford was like the army at war. And like the army, when this war was over he fully expected he would be sent on his way without the barest of thanks.

  He turned his attention to the one thing that Lord David had asked him to do.

  Olivia’s dress was beautifully made, a fine cotton with satin ribbon threaded through the neckline. But Michael could not imagine Lady Olivia would ever want to wear it again.

  Rather the way he felt about Raoul Desseau’s uniform. He’d kept one gold epaulette to remind him of all he had lost and what England had won, but the rest of it he’d passed on to a French longshoreman as he boarded a ship for England.

  This dress could be handed over to one of the servants, but if Olivia would not want to wear it again he was almost as sure that she would not care to see it again either. Michael unthreaded the blue ribbon trim, stuffed it in his pocket and threw the rest of the dress and the petticoats onto the fire.

  Ignoring the sound and the smell of the burning clothes he went to the window, acknowledging to himself that once Olivia’s world was safe again, they would not have to dismiss him; he would leave first. It would be too quiet here for him and Olivia would be too much of a distraction.

  He would not follow that thought, his imagination being much too vivid right now. Instead he made himself watch as a group of garden boys ran by the window, obviously on their way back from the kitchen to wherever they
spent the day.

  Three were playing some odd game as they raced along, using their baskets—the exact type of basket Olivia’s clothes had been delivered in—to catch something hard that was thrown by hand once it was caught. Loud hoots and jeers insulted anyone of the five who missed his catch. It could be that one of these boys had delivered something other than food this morning.

  The two who followed along more slowly were not at all interested in the game, engrossed as they were in eating something that looked like cinnamon buns. Michael wondered if there were any left.

  “YOU ALL MISSED the buns more than you missed me.” Olivia laughed. Using her apron as a hot pad, she pulled the third batch from the baking oven.

  The cinnamon and sugar were just right, but the dough itself was not quite as golden as she liked. When she went to return them for a few minutes, the universal groans made her decide that they were done enough for this starving group. “You must let them cool a little, or you will burn your tongues.”

  “It’d be worth it, Miss Lollie.” That from the new footman, a cheeky fellow who loved to tease.

  Olivia cut one from the pan and set it aside for Big Sam. When he was awake he would sniff his way from the attic to the kitchen and she wanted to be sure there was enough for him. One from each pan. He had an appetite to match his size.

  “Mary, would you please ask the girls to start the cleaning up while I finish with the last of the topping.”

  “Are you feeling well enough to be cooking?” Patsy asked as she nursed a cup of tea.

  “Good morning, Patsy. Are you finished with the bedrooms already?” Olivia deliberately avoided answering her, noting that Patsy herself was looking a bit pale. She kept that to herself. Health was not a topic she wanted to discuss.

  Olivia began to cut the buns, separating and lifting them carefully from the pan.

  Mary came up beside her with a large serving platter while Cook directed the other kitchen maid to put some plates out.

  “Ladies and gentlemen.” The voice came from the top of the stairs leading into the room.

  There were few things that could distract the footmen from cinnamon buns but the sonorous words of Winthrop was one of them.

  The voice of the majordomo had the group turning as one. There was a general shuffling of feet, and the stable hand and two of the gardeners drifted up the steps on the opposite side of the room. Olivia blushed furiously, not at Winthrop but at the man accompanying him.

  “My lady,” Winthrop bowed to her, as did the man with him. “Ladies and gentlemen, this is Mr. Garrett. He will be taking up residence in the gatehouse. The duke himself has asked him to study and improve the security of the residence and the old building, of the entire castle. You are to treat him with the deference shown to a man who has spent his lifetime serving king and country in the army.”

  Like everyone else Olivia gave Michael her full attention as he came down the steps and into the kitchen. He was not smiling. His eyes were dispassionate and seemed to memorize every face he looked at.

  The thin line of his mouth did not look anything like the one she had so wanted to kiss. His even breathing gave no hint of nerves. If he was trying to convince them he was a man to be reckoned with, he succeeded admirably. He would have intimidated the Duke of Wellington himself.

  It was smart of him not to use his rank, to pretend that he was not a gentleman by birth. He would fit in better if no one knew he had been a major. All right, Mr. Garrett he would be.

  “Welcome to Pennford, Mr. Garrett. Please let me offer you a cinnamon roll. As a gesture of welcome. Winthrop, could I send some to your rooms for you and Mrs. Winthrop?”

  “Thank you, my lady, you are all that is kind. It will be the highlight of Mrs. Winthrop’s day.”

  “Help yourself, everyone, and hurry back to work. If you do not, Winthrop will be very annoyed with me.”

  They all laughed at that absurdity. Half watching the major, she cut the rest of the buns and let Mary and the kitchen maids serve the others.

  Winthrop accepted the plate and bowed. “We are happy to see you returned to us in good health.”

  Patsy had her mouth full but that did not keep her from adding her bit to the conversation.

  “Weren’t you afraid that you would die, Miss Lollie?”

  The laughing and chattering stopped. Olivia heard one or two murmur, “What did she say?” Cook spilled her tea.

  Olivia was not sure whether to ignore the question or not. The crowd was not looking at her; their eyes were on each other or the cinnamon buns. She looked at Garrett. At least he was watching her, advising with a wordless communication she understood perfectly. You cannot ignore this. Olivia did not know how she could read sympathy in his dispassionate expression but whatever it was, Garrett gave her the boost she needed. Drawing in air as though it was courage she laughed.

  “Patsy, why would I die from an upset stomach? I never take sick for long. I think it was one of those greens that looks so delicious but is not at all edible. Yes, perhaps I could have died. Instead I was so sick that I did not even want my own Cure-All Chicken Soup.”

  They all laughed. Too heartily. It sounded like they were as relieved as she was. There were times when a lie was all that anyone wanted to hear. Everyone returned to the meal with less than the usual enthusiasm. Now she wanted to cry, and tried to think of something that would distract her. Tears would betray her true sensibility: that nothing would save her reputation, not even the best lie told.

  What did it matter? She had what she wanted most in life: her work in the kitchen. She turned her back on the others and began dressing the fish she planned to serve at dinner. Salmon pie was one of Lyn’s favorites.

  The welcome routine calmed her and the need to cry faded even if the heartache did not go away.

  “Ohhh, who does he think he is?” Mary said, loud enough for everyone to hear. “There are those who’d give a day’s pay for what he’s leaving behind.”

  MICHAEL REALIZED it was a mistake to leave one of Lady Olivia’s cinnamon buns half eaten. Yes, it was superb and hard to abandon, but he had not thought it wise to keep Winthrop waiting. Apparently he was wrong.

  In less than a day he had committed his first Pennford faux pas.

  “The truth is,” he began with a bow to Lady Olivia. “I could not stand another bite.”

  One of the footmen stood up and Michael was sure he was going to challenge him to a fight. Even Olivia turned from her chopping board to give him a curious look. He wanted to wink at her but settled for as bland an expression as he could manage. She smiled, and her eyes shared the joke even though she had not heard it yet.

  “I could not have had another bite of this piece of perfection without swooning like a girl. It is superb, Lady Olivia. If I could wrap it up and take it with me, it will be something to look forward to all day.”

  The crowd laughed and cheered. Olivia nodded with just the right bit of condescension that told him it was exactly what she expected. He came back down the steps as Mary handed him his bun wrapped in a cloth.

  Winthrop addressed them all. “We are all pleased to see Lady Olivia back with us, but it is time for work.”

  In God’s good name, Winthrop did not have to bring that up again. Olivia’s smile disappeared and with one soulful look at Michael, she turned back to the board.

  The footmen stuffed the buns into their mouths. The maids slipped them into their pockets. The household resumed its normal routine. Only Michael had seen the sadness in Olivia’s eyes.

  28

  IT DID NOT TAKE LONG for Michael to understand the routine at Pennford Castle, from observation as well as Lord David’s terse explanations.

  “The duke is not concerned with the day-to-day details here. He will be returning to London as soon as he is satisfied that Olivia is safe and her reputation intact.”

  The two men were riding toward the forest cottage where Olivia had been held and where she and Michael had taken shelter in the
storm. It was a gloomy day and Lord David had been delayed by a group of tenant farmers who had come to report that their seedlings were flooding or rotting in the fields. Michael thought that this pointless trip was just an excuse to take a break from the endless headaches caused by the rainy weather.

  “So, Lord David, you are the overall estate manager. There is Winthrop as house manager and the land steward who was with the farmers this morning.”

  Lord David went on to explain that Mrs. Winthrop was the housekeeper, but some undisclosed ailment had kept her in their quarters for the last year. She still ran the castle but now it was through her husband and the maids who came to her with problems.

  “Winthrop’s voice is his greatest asset.”

  “Yes, my lord. I can imagine him telling the footmen to jump in the moat and they would only wonder ‘With or without our shoes on?’”

  To their mutual surprise they did find something at the cottage: definite signs that it had been occupied again. There were new stacks of wood and more hay in the shed.

  Lord David poked around the loft and tossed down a chicken bone or two. “Well fed, they were. Which eliminates unemployed mill workers or destitute soldiers. I think our kidnappers might have been in residence.” Lord David came down face-first as though it were a ladder onboard a ship, his feet barely touching the rungs. “That means they have not finished their job, or are afraid to report back to their employer.”

  “Or both,” Michael suggested.

  “Hmmm.” Lord David stirred up the ashes in the fireplace and said no more until they were on their way back to Pennford.

  “It means that Olivia may not be as safe as we thought.”

  “My lord, she is as safe as we can make her. I assure you that no one will harm her while I am a part of the household.”

  Lord David accepted that with another “Hmmm,” and let the conversation end.

  Michael was considering the ramifications of that outing one night as he made his first evening round of the castle grounds.